


Even a butterfly will turn

by starlesssky



Series: Man, Woman, and a cat [7]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Relationship Discussions, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlesssky/pseuds/starlesssky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in a trap, still a butterfly tries to escape.<br/>Even if it brings unexpected ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even a butterfly will turn

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extra for this series.
> 
> If you are new to this series, please read [part 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5973331) first.

He convinced himself. It was not he who wanted to come back here.  
As he entered the house, he found the steward waited for him in the entrance hall. He nodded, like he appreciated his loyalty.  
"Welcome back home, Sir."  
Home. Yes, here was his home, so-called home. But he didn't think so, the steward also knew it.  
It was already a month ago when he left here, after his honeymoon.  
No, it's theirs. His and his wife's. His newlywed wife. His so-called wife. For a decade, they have engaged, but never thought they were going to have a warm family. They never would. How could they? Both of them knew this engagement and coming marriage was just for a profit for both of their families. For his family, money and connection. For her family, fame and position. Both of them knew it, so, why they had to hope to have a warm family? Yes, they could confirm their marriage, they could have some night duties for the future of their families. But, how could they imagine having some emotional bonds?  
Till the night before he left the home.  
Millie. He mumbled in her ear, after he reached his climax, while she gasped from the orgasm they got together. They didn't know why it happened. He didn't know, she didn't know. He buried his face in her neck, putting his lips against her lightly tanned and soft skin. He could feel her pulse throbbing beneath his lips. Her hands touched his head, then ran through his ginger hair softly. He had to leave the house the next morning. He had to leave his wife behind the next morning. He had to go back in the duties of the First Order, he had to focus on his ambition, ruling the galaxy to bring the order there.  
And, he didn't want to leave her.  
"Where is Millie?"  
Brushing away this trashy thought, he entered the waiting room and gave his hat and coat to one of his servants. When he turned around to the steward, to listen to his answer, he saw the steward looked down with a troubled look. Something happened to her? No, it didn't mean he worried about her. It was not he who wanted to go back home. It was his father. He told him it was too early for abandoning his wife, because her father, jealous and tolerance one, could have doubted about his position, and it could cause not-a-good result. At least he had to show his care for his wife... yet.  
"Your Madam had..."  
As the steward hesitated to answer, he arched his eyebrow. He wouldn't get surprised if she already brought her paramour in this house - even if she never had one during their engagement - because it was he who told her he wouldn't mind it.  
"Your Madam had a visit from her father..."  
He frowned slightly.  
"When?"  
He didn't notice that. General Pinastoff was the one who he shouldn't ignore, at least now. He didn't like that man, who always smiled, but he could see what the man thought under his smiling mask. Fame. The son of Commandante Hux was just a tool for him to bring him the fame as the member of the past Empire. And he turned his gaze to beside him, to the one who stood by him, the girl who would be his wife.  
"A week ago."  
"He visited his daughter just to see she was fine?"  
"Yes, perhaps, but..."  
"But?"  
He asked with a frown on his face. Even though they connected by a marriage, it didn't mean he could let him research about his family or his mission in the First Order.  
"After the visit, your Madam shut herself up in the greenhouse..."  
He thought for a moment, then smirked.  
"She ate?"  
"Yes."  
"She slept?"  
"Yes."  
"She managed the house?"  
"Yes."  
"So I think it can be considered 'as always'..."  
"Too much for 'as always'."  
He chuckled.  
"Fine. Prepare the tea for us. I'm going to talk with her."  
As the steward nodded, he headed toward the greenhouse. It was one of her favourite places, he knew. It was her territory, even if it was a part if his house, whose owner was him.  
So when he opened the glass door, he made sound purposely, to tell her he was coming.  
She sat on the chair, before the work bench for gardening. She showed her back to him, and didn't turn to him. He snorted, but just walked toward her.  
And he saw. She snapped the thorns of a rose, with her bare fingers.  
Not with the scissors, with HER BARE FINGERS.  
"What..."  
He mumbled without thinking, and he remembered what she said, during their honeymoon, when he visited her here. You have to treat the rose with care, when you pick the rose, pick the thorns, when you use their lives as you like.  
And he knew she didn't say just about the rose.  
"What are you doing!?"  
He grabbed her wrist, and saw her bleeding fingers. And she looked up to him, like she noticed him for the first time.  
"You came back?"  
So cold, so flat tone.  
"Millie, I told you not to..."  
"Ah, sorry my husband, I have to obey your order. Sorry for being disobedient wife."  
She tried to pull back her hand from him, but he didn't release her wrist. He just stared at her. What happened? What had happened during his absence?  
"What did he say to you?"  
As he asked, she frowned. But he could tell she grasped what he meant. She just... showed her frustration.  
"Why you have to mind it, Armitage?"  
He grit his teeth. She knew he didn't like his first name, so she didn't use it usually. But when she got frustrated about him or his action, she said it, to tell him he shouldn't walk into her territory. And he always stepped back, with a smirk.  
Before they got married. Before they shared the bed. Before they fell into bliss they have never had. Before they held tightly each other, like nothing existed around them.  
Before they called their names each other, in such a blissful afterglow.  
"Because you are my wife, Millie."  
He didn't know what he wanted to mean with these words, "my wife."  
He could see she trembled at the word, and he knew she remembered the same thing. The night. The night before he left their honeymoon.  
"You told me I would have my own life."  
She spatted out sharply, like she wanted to shake off the sensation the words brought to her.  
"Yes."  
"You said you wouldn't mind me, my life, our marriage life."  
"...Yes."  
"Then, you suddenly got interested? What made you think so? Why you have to mind it? Why? Why..."  
"You can say that, even after what we shared?"  
She opened her mouth, then closed, shook her head weakly, and, she bowed her head. He looked at her hand, still holding in his hand. The bleeding almost stopped, and, he licked the tip of her finger. Taste of blood. And she pulled back her hand strongly, till he released her wrist. When he turned his gaze to her, she glared at him.  
"You need my blood? You need the blood I carry?"  
"What?"  
She stood up from the chair and grabbed the collar of his coat to pull him toward her till her eye level. He blinked his eyes at her sudden action, just staring at her angry eyes in inches.  
"Millie?"  
"You need someone who would like to carry your blood, and you don't have to mind who it is, no?"  
"MILLIE?"  
But he couldn't get her answer. Just her kiss. He held her waist in his hands, to pull her into him. She bit his under lip and he opened his mouth, to explore in her mouth. Their tongues danced for a while, but it was not moderate like they did in the dance party. It was furious, clashing, and partly passionate. As they parted to breathe, she sighed with a flush on her cheeks, and the sight his wife closed her eyes, trembling a little like she couldn't help, it ignited his desire in his body.  
Like he couldn't think anything but his wife for this one month.  
Sweeping things away from the work bench, he pushed her on it. As he hovered over her, he saw her staring at him, with a slight fear. He kissed on her forehead, brow, nose, jaw line, neck - when he inhaled, he felt the perfume of rose - collarbone, while he pushed her dress away to expose her skin. Her skin. How smooth it was. How soft it was. How hot it was. And he was the only one who knew it.  
As he tried to slide his hand under her back, to unzip her dress, she arched her back a little to let him do it. Unzipping her dress, he tugged the hem of her dress up, and slid down his body between her legs while she sat on the edge of the work bench. Kneeling down on the floor, he began to caress her thigh, rubbing and pecking her skin. He felt she sat up on the work bench, supporting her upper body with her arms. As he looked up to her, not leaving her skin, he met her gaze staring down at him.  
"What are you doing?"  
Her words were shaking.  
He didn't answer, just kissed her skin hard. He was sure he left a mark, but, who cared? When she was his wife?  
He tugged the hem up more, so revealed almost all of her stomach. He kissed under her navel, then caught the waistband of her underwear between his teeth. He slid it down, smirking at that she half rose her hip.  
He discarded her underwear on the floor, then sat between her legs. He put his hand on both of her thighs, stared at her center. Under his intent gaze, she moaned in a small voice.  
"You have to treat the rose with care, no?"  
As he mumbled, he heard she gasped. Pecking the inner of her thigh, he kissed on her petals, like a butterfly stopped on it. He lifted up her thighs slightly, so let her legs rest on his shoulder, caressing her center with his lips and tongue.  
It tasted, he thought, like honey. He ran the tip of his tongue along her slit, and she moaned, in a subdued voice. Looking up to her, he saw her putting her hands on her mouth, laying down on the work bench. He chuckled and kept teasing her. Her body shook under his touch, and he felt the bulge formed in his trousers.  
But at first, he had to make her come.  
He opened her petals with his fingers and his mouth was agape. She was so... wet, like a dewy rose petals. And he was a bee, to taste this honey? He didn't know, at least, at this moment.  
As he kissed her petals, ate her honey, slid his tongue into like a bee's stinger, she arched her back, her stifled moans echoed in the green house. He grabbed hard her thighs that he was sure he left a slight bruise there, but right then he couldn't think but feel his wife writhing under his assault. His wife. They engaged for a decade. They have known this was an arranged marriage. They have known this would be a vacant marriage, while he was on the duty of the First Order, she just had to stay here, in this house, in this garden, in this greenhouse, like a trapped butterfly.  
And he had to take care of her.  
Pulling out his tongue, he kissed her pistil and massaged it between his lips, and she came undone, trembled so hard, and his name left of her lips.  
As her shaking body calmed down, he hovered over her and kissed her, to let her taste her own honey. She frowned, but didn't refuse. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb, then she grabbed his wrist, trying to glare at him, but failed, with her teary eyes from pleasure.  
"I told you, when you want to pick a rose, you have to remove your glove."  
He smirked.  
"Yes, you did."  
He put off his gloves and grabbed her face, to kiss on her lips, then deepened the kiss.  
Her hands tried to unbutton his shirt. He smiled and wrapped his tongue with her, to disturb her. As their lips left, she glared at him, with a flushing cheek, and he laughed. He undid his belt, then slid down his trousers with his underwear together. She gasped, looking at his hardened member sprung out. He kissed her forehead again, like he wanted to soothe her. And he wanted. He wanted her to relax. He wanted her to feel this as much as possible, as much as he did.  
Supporting with his hand, he positioned his length along her slit. She moaned, then bit her underlip.  
He didn't ask if she was ready or not, just entered her. It has been since a month ago, and when he slid into her, he noticed how much he missed this.  
How much he missed her.  
As his hardness seated in her completely, he hugged her in his arms. She put her arms around his back, burying her face in his neck to suppress her whimper.  
"Armi."  
Her whisper against his neck's skin sent a chill in his spine. He pulled almost out, then pushed into her in one smooth motion, and repeated it again, again, and again. Her arms moved to around his neck, her legs wrapped around his hips. Like he was the only and the last lifeline she had.  
And perhaps, he was.  
The sounds of two bodies crushing echoed in the quiet greenhouse, with suppressed moans from both. He groaned, feeling she was close. He was close, too. He wanted to feel her climax beneath him, like that night, the last night of their honeymoon, he would go back to the First Order the next morning, leaving his wife behind, and, and... he didn't want to leave her.  
He wanted to stay with her in this small garden without any worry, any fear.  
Throwing her head back to show her throat, she reached the climax, clenching him inside of her tightly, shouting a so much lustful cry. He gritted his teeth, to prevent his climax just for a moment, and slid out himself completely. He saw she stared at him blankly, but said nothing, only stroked his length, then spilled on her stomach.  
They didn't say anything for a while, just trying to catch their breathing.  
Her hand touched his face. He could feel her scars on her fingers. She moved her hand down along his necks, his chest, his abdomen, and landed on her stomach, where his seeds scattered. She scooped it up with her finger, and tried to bring it to where they were together a moment ago.  
He stopped her by grabbing her wrist, softly.  
"We can talk about this, later."  
As he said in a calm tone, she cast down her gaze, but nodded. He smiled and stood up, pulling on his underwear and trousers back and straightening his shirts. Then he helped her to tidy up her dress. As she stood up, he supported her by holding her small back.  
"I told them to prepare the tea for us, but at first, we need a shower."  
He heard her chuckle under her breath. He guided her toward the glass door. He bit his underlip. He had to behave, this time, not pushing her against the shower room's wall.

 

Everything was prepared on the table, and she felt embarrassed a bit. She knew how long time passed since he - her husband - told them to prepare the tea for them, and finally, they entered the parlor. As she followed him, he walked toward the table and draw a chair for her. She hesitated for a moment, but sat down.  
"Thank you."  
He smirked and walked around the table to his seat.  
The servants served them and they just enjoyed the tea, quietly. She looked at him drinking tea and eating a tart. Noticing she stared at him, he smiled.  
"Sorry for my manner?"  
She shook her head. She didn't know why she felt like that, like she saw him for the first time, like when they were introduced each other by their parents. Armitage, greet her. She is going to be your wife. And he looked at her, with his piercing blue eyes. And she has always escaped from his gaze, like the dying black butterfly. But now, she could stare back at him. Perhaps, it was because they were at a new point in their relationship. But she was not sure it was because they were married now, or, from something more.  
"Why you came back?"  
And it was the only question for him. She didn't understand why he came back, here. Not his parents' house, but here.  
He arched his eyebrow.  
"You think the master of this house shouldn't come back?"  
"I didn't say that."  
She answered, feeling a little irritated. Of course he could go anywhere he wanted, to his parents' house or his lover's house - she was not sure if he ended the relationships with them when he got married, and in honest she didn't think so - and if he came back here, it wouldn't matter to her.  
It shouldn't matter to her.  
As the servant filled his cup with tea, he smirked.  
"In truth, it was not my decision."  
She blinked, and he giggled. The servant left the room, but still some maids stood by the wall.  
"My father did. And I'm sure it can be the answer to your question."  
She nodded. It was surely the answer. His father decided. Her father decided.  
They could decide nothing.  
"And... what did he say to you?"  
She looked up from her cup to her husband. He put his elbow on the table and clicked the cup with his nail.  
"Who?"  
She asked, even if she knew what he asked. He tilted his head.  
"Your father."  
She looked down again at her cup, then glanced at the maids. He chuckled, then wave his hand, to tell them to leave the room. They looked at each other, but went out.  
"So?"  
His tone was flat, and she felt some relief for he didn't show any emotion - anger, anxious, or worry. Yes, he would never show them to her. She believed so.  
Until his hand touched her face, caressed her cheek, and he mumbled her name, under his still uneven breathing, at that night.  
"He came to blame me."  
And she answered, to sweep off her sentiment. He frowned.  
"Blamed you? Why?"  
She laughed. She knew she had to tell him that, and she knew how he would react. They were going to be a vacant marriage. Not fertile, in many ways.  
"Because I didn't get pregnant during our honeymoon."  
It satisfied her to see him hung his mouth open. He put down the cup, then covered his mouth with his hand.  
"Not pregnant?"  
They shared the bed during the honeymoon, and he never avoided impregnating her. And she understood what it meant. She had to carry his child, she had to bring the heir to both of their families. And she had to do everything for that.  
I don't want them to think I gave him an improper wife. She didn't look at her father, who paced in the waiting room. He is the son of Commandante Hux, and he himself is going to be a high-ranking officer... he might be a general... and I don't want him to think I handed him not a pleasant gift... She didn't turn her face to her father, who stopped beside the table. You have to do whatever he requires. I know, father. And you are not pregnant yet? Don't tell me you refused him. I didn't. Next time he comes back, you MUST get pregnant, to tell them that I didn't bother to be linked with them... She sometimes wondered, if her father really remembered his daughter's name.  
"And he blamed it to you, Millie?"  
And now there was only one who called her by her name, not Madam, not Mrs. Hux, but her own name.  
"I can understand what he wants, Armitage."  
He frowned.  
"And what another and more he wants from me? I was raised up for that, I know. Why did he have any other reason to feed his illegal daughter?"  
For a moment, she felt the degree of the room going down. He stared at her, with widened eyes.  
"Illegal?"  
She smirked. She didn't intend to tell him this... till he finds out. But she didn't mind it now. If he thought he has been betrayed, yes, she had betrayed him for a decade. If he decided to nullify this marriage, she wouldn't blame him. Everything around them was a lie, so, why did she have to mind it?  
He put his finger on the edge of his cup. Casting down his stare at the table, he thought, he considered, so, he would find a proper conclusion soon.  
"Who is your mother?"  
She bit inside of her mouth. Why he prolonged the decision? The conclusion wouldn't change whatever he knew. She sighed, then shook her head weakly.  
"One of his paramour. His wife couldn't have a child. So he wanted his child outside of his marriage. And he only got a daughter. Now you understood how much he was desperate about this marriage?"  
He looked up with a straight face to her, who sat opposite of the table. She stared back at him. His piercing blue eyes.  
And for the first time, she thought, how beautiful his eyes were.  
"You don't want?"  
As he asked, she frowned, failing to catch what he meant.  
"You don't want this marriage? You want to nullify this marriage and go back to your father?"  
She inhaled, and held her breath for a moment, like she wanted to die with that.  
"I don't want to go back to him."  
He arched his brow.  
"At least, you allowed me to have my garden. If I go back to him, he would cage me up, never allow me to do anything I want."  
She heard he chuckled, so she glared at him.  
"And."  
"And?"  
"You don't want a child?"  
She couldn't understand what he asked.  
"I know what they expect us, and I don't intend..."  
"I didn't ask about them or what they think. I asked YOU. DO YOU WANT A CHILD OR NOT?"  
She felt her breathing became shallow. She still couldn't grasp what he meant. There was nothing they could decide, who they married, where they lived, how they lived.  
"Millie?"  
He asked, softly. And why, she could think to choose something so important in her life by herself?  
"No."  
But she chose. She chose to tell him what she wanted.  
"It's just to bring another child like me in the galaxy, and I don't want that, to see another me to live another life like mine."  
Even though she didn't know what it would bring to them.  
Silence fell in the parlor. She waited his reaction. Shouting at her? Standing up and leaving the room? She waited, patiently. Then, she heard he exhaled. Not in frustration. Not in anger. Just, he sighed in relief.  
"Fine."  
And she didn't expect this answer from him.  
"Fine?"  
"Fine. I respect your will."  
Now she was really confused. What happened? What happened to him? What happened to THEM?  
"Armi"  
But the knock on the door interrupted her words.  
"Excuse me for interrupting you, Sir, but we got a comm from your father."  
As the steward entered and told him, he frowned deeply.  
"I... tell him I'm going to call him back later."  
"Sorry Sir, but he said he needed to talk with you NOW."  
He glanced at her, like he begged a help from her. But what could she do? His father wanted to talk with him, and what reason could she give him not to do it? She smiled apologized.  
"I don't mind, Armitage, we can talk about it later."  
And she could tell him staring at her, a bit sadly.  
As he went out of the room with the steward, she now sat alone in the parlor, so, she had a time to think about the conversation between them earlier. She didn't want a child, and he was fine with it. But he needed a child, no? He had to bring an heir to their families, no? Or, he considered that with another woman, or, others? It could happen. She smirked at that idea, even though she was sure her father would get pissed about it.  
I respect your will.  
She stared at her cup on the table. An empty cup. Your will? What it meant, to him, to her? Is there some space they could have their own will? Could they? They were decided to marry, at early teenage. And they never thought or tried to break it. She knew he had many lovers - women or men, she didn't mind - while she was raised as a pure bride. What a contrast, what an unfair, even if she didn't intend to have a lover. Even though he didn't mind if she was a virgin or not.  
His hand touched her shoulder. His pale and cool hand. She trembled, at the coolness of his hand. He smirked. You. Like he made sure what he already knew. Are virgin? She glared at him, on the bed, on their first night bed. You disappointed? She responded with sarcasm, and he laughed. No, I just got surprised you kept your pureness for your first night. I knew you thought it not so important. He laughed again at her words. Now you should shut your mouth, or, you want me to do it? He put both his hands on her shoulders and his face came near her. I think you know how to do it. He smiled, then kissed on her lips.  
A cold kiss.  
Not like he did in the greenhouse.  
She trembled, then heard the door opened. As she looked up, a young maid stopped.  
"So, sorry Madam, I thought you left..."  
"Don't worry, I leave now. ...If Armitage comes back here, tell him I retreated to my room."  
Not waiting her answer, she stood up and left the parlor. She had to have some time and space, from him, to think straightly.  
Or, to avoid facing the decision they made.

 

As he heard the door of the bedroom opened, he looked up from the datapad he held in his hands. She stopped, seeing he sat on the edge of the bed.  
"You feel better now?"  
She frowned at his question, and he laughed, putting the datapad on the side table.  
"You said you didn't feel well, so not come to the dinner... now fine?"  
She stared at him, like she couldn't believe him. Of course he knew it was a lie, and perhaps he had to get angry about it, about his wife lying to him.  
She walked toward him, and stood in front of him. Looking up to her, he stared at her eyes, her blue eyes, and strangely, he felt thirsty.  
"Can I ask a question, Armitage?"  
"Of course you can."  
"You want to nullify this marriage?"  
He frowned. At first, he couldn't. They were married for the profit for both of their families, so they couldn't, even if she had lied to him for a decade, even if she didn't want to have a child with him. So, it was a nonsense question, a sensitive question.  
"We have to survive this life, Millie."  
She bowed, biting her underlip.  
"But at least, we can try it working."  
"Try what?"  
"Try this marriage working."  
"You mean we are going to have a child?"  
"If it means the marriage working as you think, yes, but you don't want it, no?"  
She frowned.  
"So?"  
"I don't know, where this marriage would go, but if we can get what we want from it, we should try it."  
She didn't answer for a while, then sat down next to him, not looking at him.  
"What do you want from this marriage?"  
"The status as a married man, and the wife who can behave as an officer's wife. Honestly, I'm not sure I want a child or not."  
Because of the situation of my birth, he added in his mind.  
"And what do you want, Millie?"  
Her gaze was everywhere in the room, but not at him. He looked at her profile, and thought blankly about her lightly tanned skin. He never wondered why she had it. But right then, he thought it matched well with her blue eyes.  
She closed her eyes, like she wanted to think quietly.  
"I want a garden."  
"You already have in this house."  
"I want to live as one person, not as his illegal daughter."  
"You can, at least in this house."  
She bit her underlip. He understood what he said. In conclusion, they couldn't escape, from this situation, from this circumstance. So, they had to survive this life, these lives.  
With each other.  
"And I want a cat."  
He frowned.  
"Cat?"  
"Yes, I want to have a cat."  
He opened his mouth. It was easy to accept her request. Just a cat. It wouldn't hurt anything in their lives. No. He thought. No.  
"No."  
She turned her head to him, making a face in question.  
"No?"  
"No."  
She looked down, like she didn't want him to notice she was about crying. He chuckled and grabbed her chin and turned her face to him.  
"Why?"  
He smirked at her question.  
"I don't want someone, or something, to rob my wife from me."  
She widened her eyes - perhaps - but he didn't see it. His lips on hers, his hands on her shoulders. His lips slid down along her jaw, then ran on her neck. Her hands on his shoulders, then on his back.  
"Armi?"  
"Yes?"  
"What happened to us?"  
He giggled, still kissing on her neck.  
"I don't know, but, we can enjoy it."  
As he sucked her skin softly, she trembled. Pushing her back on the bed, he hovered over her. Her blue eyes looked up to him, and now he could see something in her eyes, not only a slight fear, but as well... a lust? He chuckled and kissed on her neck, opening her night-gown. Her hands also pushed away his night wear from his shoulders, then caressed his pale skin.

 

Hearing the rustle of clothes, she opened her eyes. Raising up her head from the pillow, she saw her husband put on the trousers. Fastening the belt, he turned around to her.  
"Good morning?"  
She tried to greet back, but her voice was hoarse. He chuckled and put his knees on the bed, extending his hand to her neck to rub her throat.  
"I will tell a servant to bring you breakfast. I can see you can't get up from the bed today."  
She glared at him, knowing her face reddened, till her ears. He laughed, then stood up and went back to straighten his clothing.  
"...You are going?"  
As she asked, he looked at her in a straight face. He sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning up the cuffs, showing his back to her.  
"My father told me the Supreme Leader thought to let me command a new operation. This is for the first time for me to lead an operation so I need to prepare very well. I expected to stay here for more days, but, sorry."  
She sat up on the bed, wrapping her body with the bed sheet. Every part of her body was sore and tired, but strangely she didn't feel it disgusting.  
"When you come back?"  
She asked, even if she didn't know why she did. Turning his face to her, he narrowed his eyes, but not cold.  
"I don't know. One month or two... I'm not sure even after the operation I can have a time to come back home..."  
For a moment, they stopped, at the word he said, probably without thinking, considered by his reaction. She tilted her head.  
"You come back here?"  
He cast down his gaze, biting his underlip, but nodded.  
"Yes."  
And they stared each other. Like they noticed each other for the first time. Like they noticed each other as wife and husband for the first time.  
"Millie?"  
"Yes?"  
"Can I kiss you?"  
He asked, timidly, and it was not usual with him. She smiled involuntarily, then leaned into him. He also leaned in, caught her chin, and kissed. Not coldly, not passionately, just, tenderly.  
"I will come back."  
He mumbled under his breath, whispering over her lips.


End file.
